


Steadfast

by Woofemus



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Shin Ankoku Ryuu to Hikari no Ken | Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 07:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17679437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woofemus/pseuds/Woofemus
Summary: “I can think of no better place I’d rather be than by your side in the sky.”





	Steadfast

**Author's Note:**

> an older piece on tumblr I decided to polish up, takes place like right after michalis

Once the final blow was dealt, Minerva’s face had changed completely. Her expression, so filled with indignation just mere moments earlier, had smoothed over once she drew free Hauteclere. The blood flicked free from where it had been impaled. Palla did not miss the way drops of it splashed onto Minerva’s face. The still proud king of Macedon gave Minerva one last bloody smile and fell from his saddle, down into the arms of his now grieving sister waiting at the bottom.

Minerva watched him fall every inch of the way. Her expression was so stony and blank that not even Palla knew what to think of that look. It was filled with so many things: relief, guilt, wistfulness, pain… but everything else, defeat.

“Commander,” she called out, cautiously flying closer. Minerva only inclined her head toward her, looking at her out of the corner of her eyes. Palla knew Minerva was only sparing her the burden of her heavy gaze.

“What do you think will happen now?” Minerva asked then. Her voice was quiet but even as the wind rushed through their ears, Palla heard them all, felt every weight of all her words. Palla watched as Minerva brought her eyes down to Hauteclere instead. In the harsh sunlight, the metal gleamed dangerously bright in their eyes. It did little to hide the royal blood that slicked the axe.

Palla looked all around them, at the enemy wyvern knights sharing the sky with them, at the faces of the soldiers she had chosen to fight, the very same people she had served alongside in the army with. They fought fiercely, defended their homeland with such devotion and loyalty that Palla felt loath to even raise her spear against them. But when Minerva had come flying out to meet them, Palla had seen it across every soldier flying the banner of Macedon, the way they hesitated.

Whether it was facing their own princess in battle, being terrified of the consequences their king would whip upon them if they hesitated, or facing the Red Dragoon in battle, Palla would never know, nor could she fault them. They had all ceased their attack once Michalis had fallen, eyes conflicted as they watched the killer of their king, their very own princess.

“You have avenged our old king and rid Macedon of a tyrant. I can think of no greater duty for a princess of Macedon to accomplish,” Palla finally answered, her voice firm like the grip on her own reins. It was easier than holding her spear in this moment. Now, Minerva looked up, their eyes meeting for a fleeting moment, but it told everything Palla needed. Minerva looked away and laughed, a short bark that tasted as bitter as the blood upon their bodies.

“What will Macedon remember me for? The princess who avenged the king, her father? Or the princess who murdered her king, her own brother, and stole the second coming of Iote away?”

Palla came closer, as much as she could in the air. Even with the distance between them, she spoke through the whistles of the wind. “Your hands are not the only one stained with Macedonian blood."

A grimace came upon Minerva’s face and she turned to her second-in-command, expression full of pain and guilt. Once more, words Palla had already heard fell from her mouth, apologies that Palla had never accepted. “Palla, forgive me, I never meant to bring you into our troubles, you were never—” and when Palla shook her head, Minerva choked back the rest of her words, her face pained as if she had taken a blow instead.

“Even so, that will not stop me from following you.” Palla smiled gently, and the words she spoke felt just as natural as breathing. “I can think of no better place I’d rather be than by your side in the sky.”

Slowly, bit by bit, Palla watched as the guilt that always lined Minerva’s expression began to transform, into one of disbelief and bewilderment. Palla knew what had caused it, felt no offense; she and her sisters had often expressed such vows for their commander, but Palla had not spoken of the Whitewings this time. If Palla were to feel offense, it would be that Minerva could ever dare think to still question Palla’s loyalty even after all this time.

And finally, ever since the entire ordeal, Minerva smiled. It was a tiny one, wry and sardonic with her bitter amusement and guilt mixed into it, but a smile nonetheless. Imperceptible to anyone’s eyes except Palla’s, finally, Minerva’s shoulders slumped.

“… forgive me for my doubt. I will need your support for the upcoming days.” Minerva closed her eyes, breathing deeply. “This might just be the end of Macedon’s might, of Macedon herself. Who knows where we can go from here, losing two kings in such a short amount of time?”

"Commander," Palla started, but Minerva straightened herself and broke away. She opened her eyes and raised her axe into the air, to rally her strength and gain the attention of all the fliers around them, friend and foe, all Macedon.

“All of you,” she shouted hoarsely, a rough befitting the soon future queen of Macedon. Only Palla, after so many years of being with her, had caught the slight tremble underneath, had caught the white grip of Hauteclere, had caught all the cracks upon her armor. 

Minerva looked down, to where Maria was cradling Michalis’ body, staring up at Minerva with eyes wide with tears, with none of the anger Palla knew Minerva had hoped she would find. Down the blade of Hauteclere, down the worn gauntlets of her princess, down where it returned to the ground far below them, ran the blood of Macedon. 

“Come, my people! We must bury our king once more.”


End file.
